


i've even got the month of may with my girl

by floweryfran



Series: my girl(s) [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome May Parker (Spider-Man), Hurt May Parker (Spider-Man), May Parker (Spider-Man) Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23089462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweryfran/pseuds/floweryfran
Summary: “Hey, dude,” comes May’s voice softly. She peers over the arm of the couch at him.Peter jumps. He hadn’t sensed her.She looks as if she’s melting into the cushions, a throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders despite the mugginess thickening the air on their floor of the building, her feet bare against the corduroy fabric of their saggy old sofa.“Hey, dude,” Peter says back. “Whatcha’ doing out here?”May opens her mouth as if to answer, then closes it, a noise like a whimper falling from her throat.Peter feels his stomach drop out from under him, clatter on the floor like a metal trash can lid.“Wha— May, May, are you crying? What’s wrong?”
Relationships: May Parker & Peter Parker
Series: my girl(s) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659547
Comments: 57
Kudos: 283





	i've even got the month of may with my girl

Peter has a system for when he arrives home after patrol. 

He starts swinging back around a quarter-to-eleven, to make sure he arrives in time for curfew. His backpack is always waiting webbed to the same wall, and he tears it down in a practiced motion. If it’s chilly, he’ll pull out a beanie and hoodie and layer those over his suit, but he usually just slings the bag over his shoulders and clips the straps across his chest to keep it from falling off mid-swing. He takes the borough at a roundabout, starting in the afternoon once he’s finished his homework, leaping out his window and ending right back there after a nice big loop— a comprehensive tour of Queens’s biggest jerks. He clambers inside, throws his backpack under his desk, (winces when it hits the wall with a dull thud,) strips the suit, and takes a brief shower to rinse away whatever stink clings to him. He slips into something soft, then goes to find May, to sit with her for a bit before they head to sleep.

Hair dripping down the back of his neck, Peter pads along the hardwood, a fingertip dragging along the wall parallel to him. He’s tired, tonight. Mostly just the sleepy kind. But his limbs feel leadened, and he wants May to hold him. May helps him stop thinking, helps numb his mind in a pleasant sort of way, a tingling quiet like the moment after bells. Maybe she’ll play with his hair, even though it’s wet. She has to be feeling especially generous to do that. Usually she calls him a wet dog and snickers, wincing, as he shakes his hair at her, splattering the lenses of her glasses. 

Peter steps into the living room, squinting in the dark. The TV is on, muted, and Peter vaguely recognizes _Rebel Without a Cause._ It had been a classic in their household, growing up. Ben had quite liked James Dean.

“Hey, dude,” comes May’s voice softly. She peers over the arm of the couch at him.

Peter jumps. He hadn’t sensed her. 

She looks as if she’s melting into the cushions, a throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders despite the mugginess thickening the air of the sixth floor, her feet bare against the corduroy fabric of their saggy old sofa. 

“Hey, dude,” Peter says back. “Whatcha’ doing out here?”

May opens her mouth as if to answer, then closes it, a noise like a whimper falling from her throat.

Peter feels his stomach drop out from under him, clatter on the floor like a metal trash can lid.

“Wha— May, May, are you crying? What’s wrong?”

“Oh,” she says, “I just watched _The Notebook_ a minute ago, before I put this on, you know, the usual. That darn Noah, he always gets me.”

“My Spidey Sense can pick up liars, you know,” Peter says.

May swipes the pad of her thumb under her eye and takes a heaving sigh before painting a smile on her lips. “No worries, Pete. You hungry? I can— well, I can’t cook, but I can make you a bowl of cereal. By which I mean I can pour some cereal into a bowl and you can add milk to it.”

Peter ignores May, plopping himself onto the couch beside her, turned to look directly at her, knees pressed against her thigh. She looks back at him.

“May,” he says.

“Just sad today, baby,” she says, her chin wobbling through her smile.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” he says. He reaches over and takes her hand, rubbing it between both of his. “You can be sad. You always tell me that. It’s true for you, too.”

“No, no,” she says, waving her free hand, “it’s different.”

“Tell me one way in which it is possibly different,” Peter says. “One way, literally one, and I’ll say _fine, you’re right.”_

“Because I’m the adult—”

“Ehhhh,” Peter says in a sharp imitation of a game-show buzzer. “Wrong.”

“And I’m supposed to— be strong, for you, to show you—”

“What part of _ehhhh_ did not compute, May? For real, you’d think you weren’t listening to me or something,” Peter mumbles, scooting closer to her. His arm snakes behind her shoulders, resting on the back of the couch, and he pulls her face against his chest, his palm resting just above the messy clump of her bun.

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

“Nuh uh,” says Peter, “nope, I bought those words with my inheritance from Mister Stark. If you really wanna try and buy them back, it’s a steep asking price. ‘Til then, you can’t have them. And I’m not even sorry about it.”

“The first thing you’ve ever not been sorry for,” May says. Her breath is warm through Peter’s shirt. 

“That’s how you know I mean business,” Peter says. 

He looks at the top of May’s head.

Arcs his fingers. Scritches his nails lightly against her scalp.

Her back shudders as she sucks a breath in, like catching on a step and tumbling down the staircase after, every bounce bruising. They’re both black and blue. Peter doesn’t know why his chest aches, cavernous and echoing and broad, but he wants it to stop. 

He doesn’t like it when May hurts. She shouldn’t ever hurt; life for her should be wildflower fields in gentle breezes and the feeling of the sun baking her shoulders in July. Sangria on a rooftop in Rome, the tattoo of her heels against the floor of lofty museums. Ease.

_“I’ve got sunshine,”_ Peter finds himself singing quietly, _“on a cloudy day. When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of—”_ he tightens his arms, _“May. I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way?”_

Peter hops out of the embrace and onto the floor, stands in front of May, bending into an awkward, wide-legged squat and throwing his arms out. _“My girl,”_ he sings. He’s terrible. His singing is probably gonna make May cry more, that’s how bad it is, like an asthmatic wolf hacking up a loogie. _“I’ve got sooo much honey, the bees envy me.”_ He waves his arms, ignoring every second of dance training he’d had between kindergarten and eighth grade, _“I’ve got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees.”_

He spins, bumps his shin against the coffee table, windmills his arms to keep from braining himself on the hardwood. Keeps grinning, doesn’t let his face slacken, because May is staring at him, just slightly slack-jawed, and her cheeks are wet in the vague light from the flickering television. 

_“Well, I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way?”_ He brandishes his arms at her again. _“My girl.”_ He turns and wiggles his butt at her, peers at her over his shoulder, winks. Turns back around and swings his arms tornado-style. 

He begins singing the instrumental. _“Dun dun dun daaa, dun da da dun dun da, hey hey hey!”_ Step-touches his soul right into the afterlife. Snaps with chutzpah, all the chutzpah he can manage, because a little smile is quirking the edges of May’s lips.

He grabs her hands and yanks her off the couch, knitting their fingers together and swaying. _“I don’t need no money, fortune, or fame,”_ he sings. _“I got all the riches, oh yeah, one man can claim.”_

Tears still drip hot and fast down her cheeks, her smile tremulous, hummingbird wings and tissue paper in water. Peter pulls her close, one hand staying knit with hers, the other arm wrapping tight around her waist. He hooks his chin over her shoulder. _“I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way? My girl,”_ he sings, hushed. They step side to side, Peter doing most of the moving, May listless. 

_“I’ve got sunshine,”_ he whispers. “That’s you, May, you’re my sunshine.”

The way her heart pounds against his chest. The scent of lavender oil clinging to her neck. The sharp edges of her glasses digging into his temple. The skin just beginning to loosen on her hand as he runs his thumb over her knuckles. She’s wearing Ben’s boxers as shorts. A little tight on the thighs, maybe the seams strain, but they fit her like they’re meant to be hers. Ben and May were always more one than two, anyway.

“And you’re mine, baby,” she says. “I just miss him.”

“I know,” Peter says. He presses his nose into the cotton shoulder of May’s shirt. “Me too.”

“I feel bad.”

“What for?” Peter says.

“I dunno, everything?” May says. She laughs bitterly. “If I could give you the world and everything on it, I would.”

“I don’t need all that,” Peter says. “I only need one thing.” He pulls back just slightly to meet her eyes. _“My girl!”_ he sings right into her face.

She startles and a laugh falls out of her mouth. It’s short and hoarse with tears but it’s there, and Peter feels something within him fall into place.

She leans in and presses three quick kisses to his cheek. He hums, savoring it.

“I love you,” May says. 

Peter frees his hand from hers and starts gently wiping her tears from under her glasses with his thumb. 

“More than anything,” May adds, her eyes closing as Peter’s thumb gets too close. 

“I love you even more than that, so, ha,” says Peter. 

He dries his wet thumb on his t-shirt and rubs a hand up and down May’s back, along the proud line of her spine. 

“C’mon,” Peter says. 

He pulls her onto the couch, tucking her into place under his shoulder. Her head lands on his chest, her ear over his heart, and she sighs. 

“When did you get so big?” she whispers. 

He pulls the blanket over their laps. 

“I’m still little,” Peter says. “Just big enough for you to fit right here,” he squeezes her in punctuation, “but no bigger than that.”

“If he could see you now,” May says. “Gosh, Peter, he would be so proud.”

“I hope so,” Peter says.

“I know so,” says May. “I am. I’m proud of you every day.”

Peter swallows thickly and leans over, tucks his chin so he can press a kiss to the top of May’s head.

He grabs the remote and turns the volume on, and they watch Natalie Wood look beautifully tortured onscreen. 

May stifles sobs as Plato dies and Peter rubs her back, scrunching his eyes shut and turning away from James Dean and his stupid charming face, because all he can see is a goyish, clean-shaven Ben without his glasses on.

“Gosh, let’s just— let’s watch _Toy Story_ or something,” says May, wiping her cheeks. “This is ridiculous, we know how this ends, we don’t need to see this again.”

Peter grabs the remote and maneuvers them into _Toy Story._ Which turns into _Toy Story 2,_ which turns into three in the morning with silver moonlight drifting through the window, turning every dust mote ghostly, and a sense of peace befalls the apartment. 

Peter holds May as she sleeps, counting her breaths, and they are easy.

When morning comes, May rises, and the sun does with her. 

**Author's Note:**

> back again with somethin' a little different 
> 
> i was bopping to a happy oldies playlist on spotify and decided i must- i simply must- create a new series. this is the first installation in peter parker & all his best gals & soppy oldies songs series
> 
> no promises for how quick the updates will be but frankly im so excited about this concept that the next will probably be up soon, especially since it looks like college is being shut down for coronavirus oops
> 
> comment who you want to see next!!
> 
> much love <333


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